You Don’t Have to Talk About Your Miscarriage

Lately there’s been a lot of talk about why we don’t talk about miscarriages. Miscarriage is a complicated thing full of expectations and shifting perspective. For some it’s not easy to sum up or share with someone else.

I tend to think that most things work out in life. We’ve had plenty of challenging things happen in our lives, but this in particular, I was convinced, would never be OK. I would never be OK with the gap that is in our family, the space that was reserved for this little person.

I was 11 weeks along. It was 2 weeks before Christmas. We’d all ready bought the cutest little rocking horse to put under the Christmas tree for the new baby and the best present we could give our 3 other children – a little brother or sister.

I had a moment, driving down the street, when I thought to myself “Could I be any happier? I feel like I could burst.” We’d been through several really hard years. The loss of my sister to cancer, a massive car accident and lengthy recovery for my husband, the crash of the economy. Things were starting to look brighter.

2 hours later I was cramping. I went to the bathroom and I was bleeding. I knew it was over. I called my husband into the bathroom and we sat there quietly.

The kids were getting the Christmas decorations out to decorate our Christmas tree. I sat in that dark room with the lights of the tree glowing not knowing what to feel, or what was next, but I knew my heart was broken. I absolutely believed there was a little person waiting to join our family.

We’d go through a few more of these moments over the next 18 months before deciding we were done. I couldn’t fathom that I could ever feel OK about any of it. There were suppose to be 4. I had so many reasons to want 4. On top of my own expectations, my children were begging for another little person in our family.

Time passed, and I told myself all of the stories that I needed to in order to come to terms with this whole thing. I have 3 perfectly healthy, perfectly amazing children. 3 is easier to travel. 3 is less expensive. All 3 of my children will be in school now. We don’t need a bigger car. We all sleep through the night. We all go to the bathroom by ourselves. The 4th child probably would have been a jerk. Going back to diapers? Gross.

It’s 3 years later. I’m OK. Really I am. I haven’t really wanted to talk about it because I didn’t know what I had to say. I didn’t know what I wanted. I didn’t know where we were going. I didn’t want anyone else’s input on that.

The biggest thing I didn’t want? Other people’s expectations. Are they still trying? How are they doing? What’s next? Here’s the number for my infertility doctor . . .

I didn’t need cookies, I didn’t need lunch, I didn’t need flowers. I needed my baby. I needed the story I’d written for our family.

I think a lot of people feel that way. We can be quiet about the things that are that close to our heart. There are some things we don’t need to announce to the world.

These last 3 years have been filled with the things that have stung the deepest parts of my heart. One at a time we’ve gotten rid of things. The crib. The tiny toys. The baby clothes. The idea of another baby. I couldn’t do it all at once. I think I’m still doing it.

So yes, let’s talk about miscarriage more as a society. This isn’t about taboo. This is about space. If you need it, take it. You are not expected to disclose it all. If you sit quietly figuring this thing out on your own and content to keep your silence, it’s OK (and it will get better).

Comments (6)

My first two pregnancies ended in miscarriage…11 weeks and 13 weeks. I knew iearly pregnancy loss was a possibility and I tried not t tell anyone I was pregnant either time but I was so sick that II couldn’t hide it. One of the hardest things I have ever had to do was go back to work and face my coworkers after each of those losses. . After two years of infertility, I conceived again…twins that I carried full term. I felt greedy trying once more but I easily got pregnant when they were two…only to miscarry again at 10 weeks. My fifth and final pregnancy was successful and completed our family. I will remember those lost babies as long as I live.

I lost my first baby on Thanksgiving Day. I remember being so excited when the test was positive but then next thing I know I’m cramping so bad I wanted to die and then there was the bleeding. I knew immediately what was happening and it was one of the worst days of my life. We’d already been trying to get pregnant for years so this was devastating. I got pregnant again a year or so later and refused to even take a pregnancy test until I was almost out of my first trimester. I had a healthy, perfect baby girl. Since then, I’ve had five more miscarriages. Each one hurts and I talk about it online far more than in my real life. I’m starting to grieve the idea of adding another child to my family. I try to tell myself I’m ok with this but deep in my heart I always wanted a big family. For the moment, I’m not focusing on more kids or anything else besides focusing on my health and being the best mom/wife I can.

I’m sorry for your losses. I’ve lost three to my one, and just found out I’m on a time limit to get a second…or be done, full stop. I’ve felt differently with each loss, and now… I want privacy, I don’t want advice, but I also don’t want to be quiet. I think it would be nice to feel free to respond to losses without judgement.